


live free. don't join.

by Antares (Alvaerele)



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars: The Last Jedi - Fandom
Genre: because I loved DJ and I want to explore him more, character insights, collection of drabbles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 03:05:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13114659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alvaerele/pseuds/Antares
Summary: i love benicio del toro. i love dj. i love star wars. but i own none of them. this series is written with every ounce of respect for them.--i wanted to explore dj's character more because his appearance in the film was so brief.





	live free. don't join.

            There was an itch in the back of his mind. Oh, it was ever-present and ever- _annoying_. It chewed at him like a bug, deeper, deeper – it was so frustrating. Why, as he flew off in his new First Order cruiser, 15 million credits stowed away in the cockpit, nestled safely behind his chair, that this ceaseless itch decided to crop up?

            _Don’t you say it,_ he argued with himself. _Don’t you_ dare _fucking say it._

            DJ’s eyes narrowed at the scene behind him in the rear-view display. The colossal heap of metal that Snoke called his own was growing smaller and smaller _somehow_. He gathered his lower lip into his teeth, brows knitting indiscernibly.

            _Don’t. You. Dare. Fucking. Say. It. DJ._

            “Oh, fuck it-t-t all,” he sneered, punching in the code for autopilot override. When access was relinquished, he fished for a key card from his handy shoulder-side satchel, sliding it between his canines. Just when he could pull a 180 and face the ship once more, the unthinkable occurred.

 

            There was a loud beeping sound that rang out in the still air. There were a billion different security systems on the ship, some for detecting noxious elements in the air, others that alerted water spillage or circuitry malfunction. This particular, unerringly loud drone signaled air pressure change.

            His vision came back through a pinhole, slowing fading around the corners of his peripherals until he could see the scene around him.  There was a spider web of tiny fractures in the main console, the window at the front of his ship split in two with a disarmingly large crack. He let out a pathetic whine at the sight.

            _I just GOT this fucking thing!_

            There were concerning noises coming from every direction. It was hard to process, especially when his head was foggy and tight with an aching pressure. What could have possibly happened?

            And then it dawned on him. The sight before him. Flecks of debris scattered across the spacescape. The silhouette that suddenly split in two. The fiery burst of orange leaking out the hangar he just left from.

            And the Resistance freighter that, suddenly, was nowhere to seen, and in its place is a barrage of wrecked metal and human remains.

            DJ was suddenly overwhelmed with the sight, and the vertigo from the collision, and couldn’t keep himself from leaning away from the console to empty the contents of his stomach.

            When the acidic fluid had run dry, and he wiped at his lips, he looked back up in fear.

            Snoke’s boudoir was really, truly fucked, now, wasn’t it?

 

            He returned to Canto Bight. It was familiar – sickening with its bourgeois attendants, turning up their noses at every pitiful, begging child slave or stumbling server stuck with supplying fine spirits to the casino’s guests.

            But hey – he thrived among filth.

            The bar was where he was most comfortable, knocking back an aged whiskey one shot at a time. Maybe it was his age, or, hell, _experience_ , but the normal buzzing high that came with drinking took **way** more alcohol than it used to. He was just about to down his fourth shot when a sound erupted behind him. Crying, laughter, _screaming?_ By the Force, what could possibly be interrupting his coveted drinking time?

            “—Hey! Don’t you touch me, you filthy Hutt-spawn!”

            There was something to the voice’s intonation that alerted him. His ears pricked instinctively, and he, while the barkeep’s attention was off him, pocketed the rest of the bottle in his coat pocket and swiftly stood from his spot. The yelling continued.

            “Hey! Hey, you! Where do you think you’re going?”

            The voice was far away, and growing more distant as he padded towards the West exit, but DJ had the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that warned, _screamed_ at him that this noisy individual was addressing him.

            You tend to attract that sort of attention when your line of work involves regularly two-timing others.

            He was near inches from the door when he heard a shrill, “ENOUGH!” sound from behind, and suddenly his whole body tensed up against his will, and he could not move.

            _Damn it all._

            Again, with no will of his own, his body moved; swiveling him on the balls of his feet until he faced away from the door and towards the voice which approached, and as the proximity between the two of them shrank, he could put a face to the voice now.

            A girl. That much he could tell from her voice. But she was young, with sharp edges to her features, brows that furrowed so intently, and eyes that betrayed the fire in her heart.

            Oh, she was beautiful.

            Before he could quip a joke and shine her one of his signature shit-eating grins, she pulled a staff from her shoulder sling and pressed the head of it firmly against his chest.

            “Are you the master codebreaker?” she asked, her tone deep and dripping with ire.

            “D-d-d-depends on who you ask, sweetheart, but I—”

            She pressed harder, pushing the air out of his lungs. Okay, he could take a hint.

            “I’m not waiting for any bull _shit_ , sleemo, so keep it brief.”

            He tutted his tongue thrice, his mouth pulling into a delighted smirk. “Yeah, yeah, I’m with you. I’m n-n-n-not _the_ master codebreaker, as far as public knowledge goes, but I’m pretty good at the craft. Arguably better than that snob.” He keened his head in the direction of said master, whose attention was raptly engaged with the craps table. Her eyes followed his gesture, and when she saw the man he referred to, she lowered her eyes to process everything he said.

            “Earlier this month two friends of mine were assisted in breaking into the Supremacy by a codebreaker. They described him to me, and you fit the description. So, this is your lucky day, codebreaker. You’re joining the Resistance.”

            His jaw went taut. “Excuse me?”

            Her eyes met his in a fiery gaze, and she smiled with a knowing ferocity.

            “You will either repay your debt in selling them out to the First Order, or I will personally ensure your life to be a living hell.”

            Well, how could he refuse an offer like that?

            “I’m sorry, _honey_ , but n-n-n-no-one puts a leash on me.” He raises his index finger to her, and deftly swipes her staff away. “If you think you have any power over me, you’re sorely mistaken. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to t-t-t-take off, now.” He prepared to step forward, only for her to raise a hand and keep him stuck in his place.

            _Damned Jedi._

            “No,” she hummed, “you’re not going anywhere. Not unless it’s with me.”

            Their eyes met once more, and with the cogs turning in his head, he knew he would have his chance to escape _later_. Now’s the time to go with the Resistance.

            _They blow you up today, you blow them up tomorrow._

 

            It took all his will to bite his tongue when he saw the heap of metal that was her ship. It was so dated. Better for scrap than actual flying. Still, his silence didn’t keep her from catching on.

            “It’s the Falcon. Best ship I’ve ever flown.”

            He turned to her, incredulity overcoming him. “ _The_ Falcon?”

            She nodded with pride.

            Okay, maybe he was being too dismissive. He could only imagine what kind of loot would be kept on Solo’s legendary ship. DJ was almost shaking with anticipation.

            “Now, Codebreaker, it would be helpful to know your name. Unless you want everyone to call you traitor, sleemo, or dirty-old-man.”

            His lips parted, brows knitted, as he stared her down in feigned hurt.

            “ _Old man?_ Lady, y-y-y-you _wound_ me.”

            “My question remains unanswered,” she responded, waiting at the base of the ship for the boarding pad to release.

            He sighed, and crossed his arms as he waited beside her, still deciding whether or not to tell her.

            “Call me DJ,” he said, at half-volume.

            “DJ? You don’t look like a DJ.”

            She met his gaze with a playful look in her eyes.

            “Well what do I look like, then, sweetheart?”

            She scoffed and turned away, as the boarding pad finally dropped to their level. She started forward, and he fell in step behind her. When they were safely stowed away on the ship, he stopped briefly, causing her to halt and turn to face him.

            “So what d-d-d-do I call you then, O fearless leader?”

            She paused, looking him up and down, processing very carefully how much she truly trusted this character. But, ultimately, her features softened, and she responded.

            “Rey.”


End file.
